Leaving the gül-Gramlini of Vabasht to deal with cleaning up their own affairs, the group set out early  the next morning with their new companion for Rekorgo. They followed the deep forest trails that Taeland knew so well, and which he assured them had the best chance of bringing them, undetected, to the well-guarded colony. All that day, as they traveled east and south around the 12,737 ft. bulk of Mt. Muntirsk, the weather, already cool and overcast, became increasingly windy and wet. By the time they made camp for the night the rain was coming down hard and the wind was increasing in intensity, promising a full-blown storm to come. It was a cold, damp and restless night for most of the Hand.

There was a brief lull in the weather towards dawn, which at least allowed the group to make a passable breakfast and to break camp in relatively dry conditions. But within two hours of resuming their trek a true gale hit in full fury. The skies grew dark, bringing almost-night to the forest floor, a darkness broken only by frequent flashes of lightning. The thunder shook the ground and the high winds whipped and bent the trees overhead. Falling branches were a real danger, and there were several near misses, although serious injuries were avoided.

After an hour of the storm’s increasing fury Mariala called for a halt on the lee side of a large boulder, the best, if wholly inadequate, shelter they’d seen in awhile. “Maybe we should stop, try to find some real shelter?” she shouted over the howling winds. “I don’t see how we can go on in this!”

“I agree, but we’re on an exposed ridge here,” Taeland shouted in reply, shaking his head. “It would be foolish to stop now, the chance of being hit by lightning up here is too great!” The words were barely out of his mouth when a bolt of lightning struck a tree less than 10 meters away, blinding and deafening everyone. It was all Toran could do to control the mule, even with Korwin’s help. The large tree, burning even in the driving rain, collapsed directly across the faint mountain trail they’d been following. Unfortunately, as its roots lifted out of the ground it started a landslide that grew with frightening rapidity… and threatened to engulf the party!

Half blinded and deafened, the group staggered away from the widening surge of rock and dirt that roared down the mountainside, pulled in the wake of their obviously more sensible Khundari mule, who headed to the left and downward. Sure-footed and with no actual cliffs to navigate, the sturdy animal didn’t stop until the roar of the landslide had faded away beneath the howl of the winds. Finally managing to pull everyone to a stop under the partial shelter of a copse of scrawny mountain pines half a kilometer down slope from the ridge crest, Taeland tried to get his bearings.

“That landslide has blocked the only real trail in this area,” he yelled over the storm. “But I think I can find a way around, get us back on the right track… and in any case, the further we are from the ridges and tall trees right now, the better!” With the muttered agreement of his companions, the wilderness ranger took the lead once again.

In the dark, wet and storm-lashed forest it was slow going, and always the easiest, and often the only, path seemed to lead downward and to the northeast… In the late afternoon, as the storm was finally showing signs of diminishing, Taeland called a halt to rest and eat by the side of a wildly rushing creek, swollen with storm run-off. There was no hope of getting a cook fire going, even with Devrik’s fire magics, and they contented themselves with soggy bread, hard cheese and sausage. Huddled together under a makeshift tarp improvised from Vulk’s tent, they made a miserable sight, had there been anyone else to see them…

“So, where exactly are we?” Vulk asked, washing down the last of his cheese with squirt of sour beer from the skin they’d been passing around. “Are we back on track yet?”

“That’s… difficult to say, exactly,” Taeland admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “Until the skies clear enough to give me a proper look at the stars, I can only guess. But given the direction we’ve been moving, and how far we’ve come… well, I’m pretty sure we’ve reached an area of the Upper Arhanath Hills that I’m not too familiar with.”

“I thought you knew these hills like the back of your hand,” Korwin groused. Despite being the warmest of the group, thanks to his magical blue robe, he was as soaked as any of them and seemingly the crankiest because of it… which struck Devrik as odd, given that the man was a water mage. You’d think he’d like being wet…

“Much of them, yes,” Taeland said, frowning. “But this region was always the responsibility of my mentor, Guardian Lesik Teryne. He never would tell me much about the area, just insisted that it had a bad reputation and that I should avoid it if possible. I do know that amongst the Firalani and Ethmoniri tribesmen it’s considered an area of bad omens, and even the Gülvini seem to avoid the valleys in the vicinity… I know of no colonies in these hills.”

“Well, doesn’t that sound ominous at all,” Erol said with a weary shake of his head. Grover stuck his head out from under ex-gladiator’s cloak, where he’d been sleeping wrapped around his master’s neck, just long enough to see that it was still raining, take an offered bit of sausage, and retreat to the relative warmth and dryness of his perch.

“It wasn’t like we had much of a choice, under the circumstances,” Taeland shrugged. “When the storm lets up, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting us back up onto the ridgeline and our proper course. For now, I suggest we keep moving until we find a decent place to make camp… look, the rain has almost stopped…”

Another hour of hiking, following the wildly rushing creek on their left, found the group in a narrow valley just  as the setting sun briefly broke through the scutting clouds. But they hardly had time to appreciate the sight before a mist began to close in around them. In less than a turning they were surrounded by a thick, coiling fog, visibility reduced to less than two meters. In that brief moment of clear light they had seen what looked like a large clearing further down the valley, and Taeland used all his woodcraft to guide them toward it.

But as they trudged forward, exhausted and wet, wanting nothing more than a place to set up camp, the sound of the creek suddenly grew muted, as if coming from a great distance distant. A sudden sense of confusion seemed to fall over the group, and even the experienced ranger felt disoriented and confused. Then the usually phleghmatic mule suddenly panicked, taking off into the mist with a distressed bray. Korwin and Toran took off in pursuit, ignoring calls from Devrik and Taeland to stay together. In various states of confusion and exasperation, the others felt forced to follow, or risk losing the others in the roiling, sound-deadening fog.

When the others caught up to Toran and Korwin, they’d caught and calmed the mule, although the beast remained skittish and nervous. The fog thinned briefly then, allowing the group to see two steep hills rising up on either side of them, a flat gap of perhaps 20 meters width between the slopes. Then the fog closed in again – although clearly thicker behind them than in front. As they milled about, still in some confusion, Toran pointed out a heavily overgrown track, perhaps once a road, practically under their feet. Its almost-filled-in wheel ruts were more sensed than seen beneath the grass and straggling bushes of gorse and baneberry that covered them.

“A road, even an abandoned one, must lead somewhere,” he pointed out. “We should follow it –”

“I don’t like the feel of this,” Mariala interrupted. Her mind felt clouded, but she had no confusion about the sense of dread those two mounds evoked in her. “And a road goes in two directions. I say we follow it back out of this valley.”

Most of the others agreed with her, and they turned to slowly trudge back up the valley. But the fog, already thicker in this direction, quickly grew worse until even with Vulk’s ritual light they couldn’t see their hands before their faces. Grasping onto the cloak of the person ahead, they began calling out to one another. But the fog seemed to muffle and distort all sounds, and their own voices often seemed to come first from one direction, then from another. The going was slow, but after a time the fog began to thin. A few minutes more and they once again saw the two hills rising up on either side of the overgrown track…

“Damn, we must have gotten turned around somehow,” Taeland growled in confusion. Muttering darkly, the group turned around and again headed away from the threatening mouth formed by the two hills. Again the fog grew thicker, confusing the senses and causing their steps to slow and falter. And again the fog thinned only to reveal the looming hills. They tried a third time, only to once again be brought back to the twin hills…

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Devrik said, with a weary sigh, “but it’s clear we’re either going forward or going nowhere at all.” With equally weary shrugs, the group gave in and trudged slowly forward, passing between the dark shapes of the looming mounds. A sense of deep gloom settled over them all.

Once beyond the gap the fog soon began to thin, though vision remained limited to thirty meters or so. Above, the scutting clouds occasionally parted enough for the light of the nearly full lesser moon to reveal gaunt trees, already denuded of leaves although it was only early autumn, looming out of the mists on either side of the ghostly track. The greater moon would not rise until after midnight, and even when it did would provide no better light, being just five days away from the new moon.

In a short time the travelers stumbled into the ruins of small village. Even in the dark and fog the overgrown foundations of buildings around them were obvious. They made their way to the central open area of the long-dead hamlet, where Korwin soon discovered a well – by almost falling into it, its walls having crumbled away to little more than a ring of gravel around the hole. After his near-accident, everyone agreed they were too tired, cold and miserable to go on. The ancient village Common was relatively clear of growth beyond grass and weeds, providing decent lines of sight to the limits of the swirling mists, and was the best campsite they were likely to come upon.

The group quickly set up camp, and Devrik even managed to get a small, if smoldering and hesitant, fire going, allowing for a hot meal. The fog continued to thin, but at the same time a ground mist began to rise,covering the ground thickly to a depth of half a meter. After a quiet, somber meal everyone was more than ready to retire to their tents for some much needed sleep. Devrik and Toran took the first watch, during which the skies finally cleared, revealing thousands of diamond-like stars strewn across the velvet blackness of heaven, and the last of the fog dissipated. The heavy ground mist remained however…

Several hours after midnight, with Erol and Jeb nearing the end of the second watch and trying desperately not to nod off, lights suddenly appeared in the woods off to the east. Obscured by both the trees and the lingering mist, Erol thought they seemed like the lights of a small village… or at least a cluster of buildings, Jeb agreed. Without a thought for waking the others, the two sentries headed for the lights, intent only on solving the mystery… the lights looked so inviting… like home… they entered the woods beyond the dead village…

After a few minutes the two came out of the woods, into a wide clearing. As they did, the lights suddenly vanished, leaving both men dazed and bewildered. As they looked at one another in confusion they heard a scrabbling sort of sound, seeming to come from the center of the clearing. The thick mist covering the open ground suddenly swirled in several places… and five dark shapes rose up in the starlight.

They were human, or had been once. Now their skin, where patches of it weren’t oozing off the bone, was pale and puffy, their faces a greenish/grey, with dark red/purple eye sockets. Their hair was matted with dirt, where large clumps of scalp weren’t simply missing, revealing ivory coloured skull below. The tattered, filthy rags that hung from their rotting frames seemed to hint that they had once been rural peasants – four men and an adolescent boy,  Erol estimated, as the fog that had hazed his mind since they entered this cursed valley suddenly burned away in the rush of the emotions that always came before a fight.

“Zamoraz!” he barked, in a warning that Jeb scarcely needed. The former farm boy had seen much in his months associated with the Hand of Fortune, and this was not his first rodeo with the undead. Nevertheless, his heart pounded in his chest and his blood turned to ice water at the sight of what staggered toward them out of the darkness. With an inarticulate shriek of fear and rage he nocked an arrow to his longbow and let fly at the nearest shambling horror…

At almost the same instant Erol hurled one of his javelins at another of the undead, and both missiles found their targets – the javelin piercing the forehead of one, the arrow taking the other in the mouth and exiting the back of its skull. Both creatures dropped, their bodies collapsing into dust even as they fell. The three remaining zamoraz continued to lurch forward with disturbing speed…

♦  ♦  ♦

Back at the camp, something jerked Taeland out of his heavy slumber. Had that been a cry he’d heard? It was silent now… eerily so, in fact. The mental fog that had clouded his mind all day was now obvious to him by its sudden absence. What in the Void had they been thinking? There was clearly something uncanny going on… something very much not right. Climbing out of his sleeping roll and to his feet the Aunari Talim Nar realized the night was utterly silent, with no sounds of life at all… then the silence was broken by a sudden scrabbling noise, as of something scuttling through the heavy ground mist… which swirled oddly in a score of places…

“Awake!” he bellowed, pulling his Telnori-made long knife from its sheath. “We’re under attack!” And where the Void were Erol and the kid… dead already? But the worry was driven from his mind as a score of unsettlingly quick zamoraz rose up from the mists surrounding the camp site. Driving his blade into the ground at his feet, he snatched up his hart-bow and began firing arrows into the undead horde.

As arrow after arrow smashed through the eyes, mouths and skulls of the shambling dead his companions were scrambling out of their tents and taking up their own weapons. Toran was the first to join the fray, sending a crossbow bolt clean through the skull of one undead and into the chest of another – the first collapsed into dust, but the second just kept on coming.

Mariala’s crossbow, unfortunately, chose this critical moment to jam, and after a moment of fighting with it she tossed it aside and drew her dagger, leaping aside at the last second as one of the undead lunged for her. It’s filthy, claw-like fingers missed her, and she drove the bright steel of her Khundari dagger into the side of its skull – the creature didn’t make a sound as it crumbled to dust.

Vulk, nearby, was not quite so lucky. Still half dazed with sleep, it took him a moment to fully grasp what was going on – and when he did a rising tide of panic threatened to overwhelm him. The undead! He had had his life force drained once before, by that monstrous gülmora in the hidden Naventhülian temple in Devok, and he’d sworn afterward, as he slowly recovered, that he’d never go through that again… never! Backing away from the advancing horde, he didn’t close his eyes, as he usually did, as he muttered the ritual words to invoke Kasira’s spiritual armor. Only as the subtle golden glow of her blessing surrounded him did he feel the panic and terror begin to recede.

Unfortunately, in protecting his soul he had neglected to pick up his sword to defend his body. A zamora, lurching up behind him, clawed frantically at him, tearing his cloak but failing to touch his flesh as the glow of his mystical armor flared and deflected the blow. The second blow, however, raked down his side, drawing blood. As the pain flared Vulk once again felt the terrible, cold nothingness of the Shadow engulf his mind, and stared into the terrifying abyss of utter negation that is the Void. His body turned to ice, his soul draining away, the cantor’s mind simply shut down, even as his last thought echoed in his soul – Not again!

Therok of the Ethmoniri had stumbled out of the tent he shared with his amazing leader, Vulk, considerably more alert and ready for battle, the beautiful steel-headed battle axe the cantor had gifted him with in hand. But he had jerked to a stop as he’d realized what they faced – the undead were not unknown to his barbarian people, and were one of the few things that truly struck terror into them. He had thought that demon they’d fought on the Blasted March, when he’d first seen the light of Kasira, had been the most frightening thing he’d ever seen, but this… he didn’t know if he could fight these horrors… monsters that could drain away a man’s life, steal any chance of reunification with the All, condemning him to eternity in the nothingness of the Void. His felt suddenly enervated, and his hands shook…

Then he saw his beloved Vulk go down under the claws of one of the vile creatures, and the cantor’s strangled cry broke Therok’s paralysis. With a roar he leapt across the intervening space and decapitated the undead monster with a single stroke of his axe – it crumbled to dust even as it stooped to drain more of the life force from the fallen man. But there was no time to check on his friend and mentor, for several more zamoraz, drawn to the immobile form, had turned towards them. Standing over Vulk, Therok realized he felt no more fear, only a burning rage…

Devrik, meanwhile, had rolled from his tent at Taeland’s first call, his greatsword at the ready. But on seeing the mass of shambling undead surrounding them, he had opted to go for the Flame – with the sword in his left hand he raised his right hand and muttered the mnemonic to create the Form, to hold the Power… and felt the psychic container crack and deform in his mind. With a curse, he released the potential energies back into the universe.

Instead he grasped his greatsword with both hands and took the arm off the nearest zamora in a single blow. The creature hissed and clacked its teeth and counterstruck at him, oblivious to the damage he’d done it. Unbalanced, though, it failed to connect, and Devrik drove the pommel of his sword into its forehead, crushing the skull like an egg. The thing crumbled to dust…

Korwin, trying to disentangle himself from his sleeping roll and tent, encumbered by his comfortable but unwieldy magical robe, managed to stumble over its sash, nearly pitching himself head first into the flickering flames of the dying campfire. Deftly recovering, he glanced around to see that no one had caught his little faux pas – and instantly forgot all about it as he realized what was happening.

Several of the undead horrors seemed to be making a beeline for him, but only one was an immediate threat… unfortunately, his cutlass was still in his tent. To buy himself some time, the water mage made a sharp gesture and muttered a few words, casting the Cloak of Merthados on the creature. Instantly the thing slowed down, its movements becoming lethargic and hesitant. That was all the respite Korwin needed to reach into his tent and recover his blade… at which point he decapitated the zamora quite handily. But two more were almost upon him…

Mariala, meanwhile, found herself back-to-back with Therok, standing over the still unconscious form of her downed friend. She had deftly evaded the next undead that had attacked her, and now she pulled one of her throwing knives and aimed for its head. But the creature jinked at just the wrong moment, and the blade disappeared into the night. More critically, the creature managed to rake a claw along her forearm – her bracers deflected most of the blow, but two talons scraped across her skin, and she felt the horror of the Shadow try to engulf her.

But Mariala had fought off the Shadow before, and she was far stronger now than she’d been back in Devok and that nightmarish temple. Her mind deflected the chilling power of the Void, and in the same instant she drove her dagger up through the jaw of the zamora and into its brain. It crumbled away into oblivion as it reached for her a second time…

Therok had managed to dispatch two more zamoraz himself, glad to have the witch-woman at his back. Unlike some of the males of his people, who often resented the weirding power of the matriarchs and their guardianship of the Sha, he had long ago decided it was a good thing to have on your side… much better than having it turned against you!

But when Mariala involuntarily cried out in pain as the zamora struck her, it distracted Therok just enough that he missed the sudden lunge of his next opponent, and the creature managed to dig its sharpened fingers into his left bicep. Unlike the witch-woman, the warrior’s mental defenses were not up to the overwhelming cold and terror of the Shadow that engulfed his mind, and he could feel his life, and his soul, draining away.

But if he could not oppose the Shadow, still the wild fire in his barbarian heart would not be so easily quenched. He couldn’t shake the claw that dug deeper into his flesh, and he felt a second wave of life-force flow out of him as he raised his axe over his head… and brought it down on the undead monster’s head, cleaving it in two, the blade driving down through its torso to wedge momentarily in its pelvic bone. But the axe was freed as the bone melted into dust to join its brethren in oblivion…

Toran was laying into zamora after zamora, hacking off limbs and heads with fierce abandon. More even than gülvini, as a practitioner of the Kahar-ün-Tem, he loathed the undead and all the works of the Shadow. Only once so far had one of the foul things managed to make contact with him, but he had fought off the horror of the Shadow – and he well knew that he was now immune to it for a time, which only made his attacks all the bolder. If he had not seen that his friend Vulk was down, and who knows with what injuries, he might almost have enjoyed the friendly, unspoken rivalry he and Taeland seemed engaged in, seeing whether axe or bow would dispatch more undead from the world.

On the other side of the campfire Devrik had dispatch more than a few undead himself, but he could see that they continued to stagger out of the dark all around them. With Vulk down, and Erol and Jeb missing, possibly already dead, it was time for more drastic measures…

The battle was intensifying, Taeland had finally missed a shot, but Toran was there to intercept the undead who tried to close, allowing the Aunari to send a shaft into the skull of a zamora coming up behind Mariala – missing her own head by a hair. Therok looked pale and shaken, although he continued to destroy every undead that came after his fallen friend, and Korwin seemed to be holding his own, his blade silvery with magical frost… but how long could this last? The shambling dead never tired, but they would, even the Dwarf…

Despite the strange fogginess that he couldn’t quite clear form his head, Devrik decided he had to risk a spell… he again summoned the Form, and this time it looked good… but as he poured the Power into the Form he suddenly saw the flaw he had missed… damn, too late…

With a crack like breaking crockery the seed of the Orb of Vorol flew from his hands and dove straight into the embers of the campfire… for a second nothing happened and Devrik dared to think Kasira smiled on him this night. Then a fireball erupted from the campfire with a sound like thunder. Flames engulfed a 3 meter-wide circle around the the site and flaming debris rained down for three times that distance around them.

Taeland was knocked flat, caught at the edge of the blast, but fortunately suffered no more than a singeing – and the zamora nearest him was decapitated by a chunk of burning wood the sizzled by the ranger’s head. Kasira’s little joke, no doubt, Devrik thought in dismay. But the goddess must have been looking out for them, in truth, as the rest of his friends managed to avoid any real damage… although one of the tents was a bit worse for the wear. But the undead didn’t stop coming, and there was no time for recriminations, self- or otherwise…

It was at that moment that Erol and Jeb appeared from out of the dark, cutting a path through the zamoraz with trident and axe to join their friends around the charred circle where the campfire used to be. Devrik thought that Erol looked pale, and was sure he’d faced the Shadow… but clearly he could still wield his trident effectively, so good! On the other hand, Jeb had that look of terror and exhilaration that young soldiers often get after surviving their first major engagement.

A moment later Vulk began to come around, slowly staggering to his feet between Therok and Mariala, the latter of whom helped support him until he could stand on his own. He gestured at Devrik, and when his friend had stepped closer the cantor reached out and called down the blessing of Kasira’s protection on him. He was gratified to see the faint golden nimbus appear around the fire mage/warrior.

Perhaps it was this Immortal touch that cleared Devrik’s mind, for a moment later he made another attempt to cast Orb of Vorol – and this time the fireball flew straight and true into the most closely spaced group of undead, immolating them all and clearing one side of the battlefront!

He turned to face the other side of the circle, and tried once again to unleash Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons, a potential more devastating attack, on their enemies. But the oppressive malaise of the cursed place seemed to fight the light of the goddess, and once again his Form was flawed – ribbons of glowing, multicolored flame shot from his hands, but rather than arcing towards the zamoraz they flew in every direction.

Mariala barely managed to roll to one side in time to avoid one of the searing fingers, as did Toran, his ninja Dwarf reflexes saving him despite having his back to Devrik. On the other hand Vulk, still dazed and shaking from the loss of life-force, did not fare so well – although the ribbon merely clipped him, singeing his clothes and hair, rather then burning him alive. The tent that had been set partially afire by the earlier misfire now burst into full flame, as did three of the four remaining tents.

One zamora was also unlucky enough to intercept one of the ribbons, and went up like a torch, so there was that…

Devrik gave up on magic for the moment and grimly hefted his sword… he methodically waded into the melee, decapitating heads and severing limbs with furious determination, and the others rallied around him. In another five minutes only the living still stood, panting and exhausted, in the smoldering remains of their camp…

♦  ♦  ♦

It took the Hand an hour to put out the fires and salvage what they could of their gear from the wreckage of the camp. Fortunately Vulk’s tent had been the only one not to burn, and his pack contained most of the group’s supply of Baylorium. Clothes and food were the greatest losses, as most really valuable and/or fragile items had been stored deep in packs or saddlebags.

It took longer to find and bring back their poor Khundari mule, who had pulled up his picket stakes and bolted into the night at the first sign of the undead invasion. “A sensible beast, obviously,” Toran had commented on finally finding the animal in a small clearing, munching phlegmatically on gorse and huckleberry.

“Not to mention lucky,” Taeland added, holding out one of his few remaining dried apples. Lured by the treat, he was able to slide the bridle back on the beast with no more trouble than a heavy, almost resigned equine sigh. “The undead don’t care whose life force they drain… but I suppose our souls burned brighter in their uncanny “sight,” allowing him to escape their notice.”

The sun, dim and weak, was just rising over the eastern hills when they returned to the camp site. Anemic as it was, everyone was grateful for its light – for the few minutes it lasted. Very quickly it rose into the renewed heavy cloud cover that had moved in again, becoming merely a bright spot in the turgid gray sky. The ground mist receded until only a few patches remained in the hollows, but the air was thick and misty, and visibility was less than a kilometer or so.

In the gray light the group was able to see that they were at the center of a narrow valley, with moderately thick woods surrounding the open area of the dead village. The trees, mostly leafless oak, ash and chestnut, mixed with conifers as the woods climbed up the steep slopes to east and west. More open land ran down the center, clearly once cultivated farmland, although now covered with heavy brush and a sprinkling of younger trees.

“About twenty years, I’d say,” Taeland commented as they prepared to get moving. “No more than thirty, certainly, since this fief was abandoned and allowed to turn back to Drina’s natural state.”

“I don’t know,” Mariala said, shivering. “Somehow it seems much older to me… almost ancient…” With the exhilaration of the battle over, a certain lassitude had slowly fallen over the group agin, an ennui that made any action a chore and even thinking was a struggle. The only thing that seemed clear was the desire to move forward, to get out of this cursed valley…

They followed the faint rutted road out of the ruins of the hamlet, continuing north as they had the day before. For awhile they discussed the events of last night and their current predicament, but it soon became too much of an effort, and they trudged on in silence. Even Grover and Cherdon seemed oppressed by the gray, somber atmosphere, and refused to leave their masters’ side to explore, as they usually did while traveling. Devrik was glad he’d left Brann with Raven and the wee baby Aldari.

They halted for lunch when the bright spot in the clouds seemed directly overhead, although Vulk could have sworn they’d only been walking for an hour, two at the most. But he was still suffering the after-effects of his most recent encounter with the Shadow, so maybe he wasn’t the best judge…

By late afternoon, as the sun dropped into the narrow gap between the clouds and the western hilltops, the arms of the valley had began to turn noticeably inward… perhaps they were finally coming to the end of it, thought Erol. Although he was sure it had only been an hour or two, at most, since lunch… and surely this valley wasn’t long enough to have taken a full day to traverse, even at the leisurely pace they’d kept… but the position of the sun argued otherwise…

The track turned sharply around thick stand of trees and undergrowth, and as it straightened out again the group came to sudden halt. They were clearly at the north end of the valley, as the land begin to rise sharply upward to meet the in-curving ridges east and west… and sitting before them was the dark, looming bulk of a large buiding. Little more than the silhouette could be made between the failing light and the gathering mists… but there was a sense of two storys, chimneys rising up and out-of-true, a feeling of gables, and the suggestion of many black, empty windows…

“It looks abandoned,” said Vulk diffidently. “But not in ruins, like the village.” He softly spoke the words of the ritual that would bring the vision of Kasira to himself and his friends… but the throbbing in his head, which had only gotten worse as the day progressed, suddenly redoubled, and he lost the train of thought – and the ritual with it. “Sorry,” he muttered in frustration.

Devrik patted his friend on the back and pulled several torches from his charred pack – amazingly, they hadn’t caught during the tent fire, though he rather thought it’d been a near thing. With a gesture and a thought he sent the Flame into their oil-soaked heads, and once they were fully burning passed one to Mariala, another Taeland, and kept the third for himself.

Korwin, meanwhile, had been rummaging in his own partially burned pack and now pulled out the lantern he’d had made back in Dürkon, utilizing the glowstone pebbles he’d discovered and simple water. Now he released the catch that allowed the water to flow from the upper reservoir into the central chamber filled with the pebbles, and they began to glow with a rich, warm light. He slid the collar around to turn the lantern into a bullseye lantern and aimed the beam at the house.

It had obviously once been the mansion of some wealthy lord or maybe a merchant – the manor house of this valley fief. But time had not been kind… the dark gray stone was pitted and covered in moss and lichen, and several chunks of stone were missing from the stone stairs that lead up to the main doorway. They were also stained with several large dark reddish brown patches. Two large doors lay on the ground outside the house, and showed signs that they had been ripped, or blasted, out of the house.

The patchy grass around the building was brown and sickly looking, scraggly brush choking what must once have been formal gardens, and black ivy crawled up the walls. Most of the windows were shuttered, but the few that were not showed broken glass in empty frames of rotting wood. The once royal blue, now black, slate roof sagged a bit in the middle, with many tiles missing. The two chimneys leaned slightly out of true. A smell of decay and rot wafted from the open doorway…

“Hmph,” Korwin said matter-of-factly, breaking the spell of dread. “Now that’s something I never expected to see out here! This house is done in the classic style of the Second Expansionist Period… a beautiful example of Imperial Oceanian architecture… look at that shell-and-seahorse motif around the windows…”

“So how old would that make it?” Mariala asked, rubbing her temples.

“Well, this style was popular, I don’t know… eight, nine hundred years ago? This house doesn’t look that old, even with all the decay… so I suppose someone copied the style. Still, the accuracy is amazing…”

While Korwin marveled at the architecture, the others discussed their options. No one was terribly excited about entering the house, but with the light failing quickly (and it sure seemed like this day had gone by unusually fast) it seemed a better shelter than another night in the open. Xydona knew how many undead might rise from the ground  this time… and the fog was thickening again, the ground mist rising…

“Well, I’m going inside,” Devrik said at last. “If nothing else it should be more defensible if we’re attacked again, and it may provide some answers as to what is going on in they cursed valley.”

With no other viable options presenting themselves, the rest of he party agreed, and they slowly mount the steps and crossed the threshold just as the last of the anemic sunlight vanished from the sky and full darkness engulfed the valley…

The inside of the ruined mansion, as revealed in the light of the party’s torches and Korwin’s lamp, was at least as dilapidated as its exterior. The main entry hall was large, it’s once-fine wooden floor heavily bloodstained. A closer examination of the main door’s frame revealed deep gouges where the doors were ripped out by… something. The two tall windows to either side of the doorway had been boarded up, but one had the boards ripped away, apparently from the outside, and the shutters now hung on wrenched hinges. A large stair- case, with several missing or damaged steps and a damaged banister, wound upward into darkness. Open double doors on the left also opened into darkeness, as did a similar doorway on the right; at the back of the hall was a third doorway. Under the staircase was the only undamaged, closed door to be seen, a stout mahogany door with a large pitted and verdigris-covered brass lock and handle.

 

Once in the house, events will begin to unfold on a strict timetable:

Dusk 17:00 The fog begins to thicken again, and the ground mist rises. Attack 1 – see separate section.

Dark 18:00  The sun finally disappears behind the hills, taking it’s anemic light with it. Niether moon is risen

19:00  Fog remains moderate, mist heavy, but the skies partially clear above. Attack 2 –see separate section.

20:00  The basement level starts to slowly cover with a thin layer of ice. All the surfaces are covered with a frost.

21:00  Osal, the Lesser Moon rises, but is waxing at half and blood red. Attack 3 – see separate section.

22:00  Screams and shouts are heard from the master bedroom. If the characters investigate, blood can be seen welling up from the canopied bed, pouring over the sides to form growing pools of blood on the floor.

23:00  The blood from the master bedroom is beginning to flow down the upstairs hall and down the stairs.

It is also oozing through the ceiling of the room(s) below. Aranda rises, but as waning sliver of little light.

24:00  The creature begins to stir in the basement, appearing from the floor in the main lab. The creature emits great screams of terror and horrendous noise as it is forming.

25:00  The final attack. Attack 4 – see separate section. The creature is now able to hunt the players.

The house was obviously once the mansion of some wealthy lord or maybe a merchant – the manor house of this valley fief. But it is in a state of considerable decay. The dark gray stone is pitted and covered in moss and lichen, the stone stairs that lead up to the main doorway are covered with patches of dark reddish brown stains. Several chunks of stone are missing from the stairs. Two large doors lie on the ground outside the house; they show signs that they were ripped out of the house. The patchy grass around the building is brown and sickly looking, scraggly brush chokes what must once have been formal gardens, and black ivy crawls up the walls. Most of the windows are shuttered, the few that are not show broken glass in empty frames of rotting wood. The black slate roof sags a bit in the middle, many tiles are missing, and two chimneys lean slightly out of true. A smell of decay and rot wafts from the open doorway… Note that Kasira’s Light will not work inside. All holy rituals and Toraz spells suffer a -10 penalty in the valley and -20 inside the house itself. It is cold in the valley, but it is much colder inside. Cold and water-based spells are at +10  / +20.

GROUND FLOOR

Hall – Only the open doorway illuminates this large bloodstained hallway. The doorframe is damaged where the doors were ripped out by the last hoard of sea zombies. The two tall windows in the hall had been boarded up, but one has had the boards ripped away (from the outside if anyone asks), the shutters hanging on wrenched hinges. A large stair- case, with several missing or damaged missing banister rails, winds up to the upper floor. An open double door on the left opens into darkeness, as does a doorway on the right. An open doorway at the back of the hall that leads to a third room, while under the stairs is a stout mahogany door with a large pitted and verdigris covered brass lock and handle.

Unlike the other doors, which are either missing or hanging in shattered fragments from bent hinges, this door does not seem to be damaged at all. It is locked and the lock is of a very good quality (level 7). This door leads down to the basement level via stone stairs.

Dining Room – This large room has the broken remains of a large dining table and the back of a few leather chairs. Most of the windows have been boarded up; some show signs of being broken in from the outside. Again, bloodstains and gouge marks mar the floor and walls. The open doorway at the back of the room leads into the Summer Room.

Summer Room – This open area appears to have once had glass doors that opened onto the rear gardens, but they are no more than shattered glass and twisted wood, open to the elements. Someone attmepted to board up the door- but the boards are rent and scattered across the room. More reddish-brown stains and deep gouges are all over the doorway and floor. There are the remains of white wicker chairs scattered around the room, as are leaves and debris from many autumns past, and a few scattered pages, apparently ripped from a book. [Entry #2]

Study – This room is lined with bookshelves, but the shelves have all been hacked and smashed into kindlling, the books torn and slashed, scattered over the floor. Most covered with mold and many with what looks like dried blood. The mouldering carcass of an immense wooden desk, once oplulent and deeply carved and gilded, lies in two pieces. The room is in utter chaos, but within the disorder may be found a small leather-bound journal. It’s dark blue leather is ripped and stained, but on the cover gilt letters can be made out: “Journa… Kalin Par…” The year is completely obliterated but for the last digit, a 7. Also to be found amidst the destruction are two arcs of a milky white crystaline substance, about 30 mm (1.2”) thick and 90 mm wide, carved with strange symbols. The edges, while jagged, appear to be clean breaks, with no splintering as one might expect… and the two pieces fit smoothly together, but don’t merge.

Living Room – This room contains large stains of dried blood on the rotting carpets covering the floor, and many pieces of wood that appear to have once been used to board up the shattered window frames lie cantered over torn and smashed furniture. More books and papers are scattered about as well. Anohter page of the journal can be found under a section of door lays atop a broken sofa, and one in the NE corner. [Entry 4 &  Entry 3]

The Stairs – Anyone walking on the stairs will feel they are unstable, as they creak and groan, but in fact they are safe.

SECOND FLOOR

Upper Hall – The hall on the upper floor has bare floorboards and mouldy paintwork peeling from the walls. Many lightened rectangles on the walls reveal where pictures once were. As on the ground floor all the doors are missing from the doorframes. It is very dark and gloomy up here; most windows in the rooms have been shuttered and/or boarded up with wood from doors, out buildings and furniture.

Bedroom #1 – This room only has a rotten straw mattress in it. The window is shuttered and boarded up. More dark stains on the floor and walls.

Bath #1 – A tin bathtub is in this room, several shards of glass crunch under the feet of anyone that walk into the room. The window has no wood boarding it up – most of the wood that originally boarded up the window is on the floor.

Bedroom #2 – A large ‘L’ shape room. The room contains several doors that have been piled into the centre. Several blankets and evidence of a small fire and a small cooking pot hint that this may be the ‘safe’ area that was chosen by some previous group of unfortunates who wandered into the valley. [Entry #1, Entry #5, Entry #6]  are hidden into the blankets, and the third part of the Torc is hidden in the hem of a blanket. All the windows are still shuttered.

Bath #3 – The room is empty; the window is still shuttered and boarded-up. The room smells of rosewater; a search into the smell reveals a small, highly decorative vial of perfume cracked and leaking on the floor.

Storage Room – This room contains many metal brackets that originally held up wooden shelves. Some shelves are still in place on the far wall, enough to board up 2 windows or one doorway. More dark stains and gouge marks cover the floor and walls.

Master Bedroom – This room has all of the windows broken through, lots of wood over the floor, loads of bloodstains splattered up the wall. The air has the smell of fresh blood and for the first time there are signs of fresh flesh and bone on the floor, as if something (or someone) was torn to pieces and (mostly) devoured. This is Narina’s room; there will be strange sounds coming from here later in the evening… the large canopy bed, its furnishings rotted and moldy, is covered in a massive dried bloodstain, much older than the other blood evidence elsewhere in the room.

Master Bath – The window is shattered open, shutters hanging; lots of wood on the floor. A brass bath tub has been overturned. Under the tub, a nearly naked body of a human male. His body has several deep, raking claw wounds, although none seem likely to have killed him. By the state of his semi-desicated body, he seems to have been dead for over a year. There is one small +1 dagger clutched in his hand.

Basement

This part of the house is cold, so cold that the adventurers can see their breath in the air. There is no ice though, not yet! There is a musty smell, not unlike stale grave soil which permeates the air. There are obviously no windows down here, so it is very dark. The floor is not wood, but heavy flagstone. Vulk and Taeland will both get an immediate feeling of dread and horror – the evil is almost palbable, even to the others. If they try to find out the source of the evil, they discover it emmenates from the soil of the great crater in the Main Laboratory.

Prep Area – Large wooden heavy benches and broken glassware are scattered about this room, along with many torn, mildewed and stained books and loose papers. The loose papers seem mostly to be lab notes, from what little can be dechiphered, in the same handwriting as the journal entries previously found. Another such entry will be found amidst the carnage. [Entry #7]

Fuel Storage – Large chunks of coal fill a large area of this room. A shovel is on the floor. The walls in this room are a deep black color, and even lanterns and torches don’t seem to illuminate it very well. Moving the coal will cause many rats to run from the cracks in the coal pile, they are rather vicious and under the control of the evil presence that rules the valley and the house. They won’t attack in numbers unless summoned by Kalin later. [25 Rats]

Glassware – This room contains many shelves that are littered with broken glass pipes, tubes, beakers and flasks. There are 2 wooden crates that each contain 4 large round-bottom glass flasks. The flasks could be filled with either oil or the chemicals from the Chemical Storage area as missile weapons.

Chemical Storage – The air in his room is heavy with many nasty smells, and multi-hued stains run up the walls and cover the floor. Most chemical bottles have been smashed, but there are three large bottles of a clear, strong-smelling liquid. The glass of these bottles is very thick; if they are thrown there is only a 15% chance that they will break. If the liquid is put in the glass flasks from the Glassware area, those will smash every time.

The liquid is a rather powerful acid – sniffing it will cause 1-4 IP of damage and a bleeding nose. Getting a small quantity of it on the skin will cause 2d6 IP of damage. If the acid gets on clothes or other items, it will quickly begin eating through them for 2d6 Combat Rounds (20-120 seconds) before losing potency. The acid does no damage to magical items or metal weapons, but any such items will still be covered with the acid for up to two minutes. If the acid is thrown, it will affect a 10-foot radius doing 3d8 IP damage to all creatures caught in the splash zone.

Main Lab – A huge stone table dominates the room, on which rests the mummified corpse of a woman. Her gown is tattered and mouldy, but her skin is as dry and desdicated as if she lay in a desert. There is no sense of rot or decay about her corpse, which retains a hint of beauty even now. There is much broken glassware, twisted metal on the floor.

In southern end of the room the stone of the floor has been shatterd, leaving a crater about 4 meters in diameter and 1.5 meters deep into the dark soil beneath. Flagstones around the crater are canted and cracked, and dirt and stones litter the floor for meters around. The wall nearest the crater is cracked and bulging in places, but still holds. To those sensetive to it, the evil radiates from this pit… The fourth and final segment of the crystal torc can be found under the dirt and rubble, but after the last journal entry is discovered under the stone table. [Entry #8]

Misc Storage.

This room contains lots of shelves, in various states of disrepair. The floor is covered with tubing, tripods and sacking.

Undead Kalin

Towering to over 2 meters (about 7 feet) in height, Kalin has a ghastly appearance. His body is covered with rank, putrid, decaying skin, a light green/grey in color with blisters that crack and seep yellow-green pus. His black robes hang is tatters arount his surprisingly fleshy frame – not fat, but neither is he gaunt, as might be expected. He has sharp clawed hands, and abnormally long arms. Kalin can cause a sphere of darkness with a 2 meter radius whenever he wishes. He can, at will, cause Fear (-20 to next skill/combat roll for all affected), Levitate (up to 3 meters, although in the house he’ll rarely be able to rise more than a foot or two) and Telekinesis (40 lbs of weight). Kalin is a strange sort of hybrid moruaz, more than a zamoraz, but less than a full gülmoraz. He has a Shadow Strength of 4, and thus a Shadow Conflict of 40– but his Shadow Radius is ten feet instead of four. Losing a conflict costs a victim 1 (MF) or 1d4 (CF) point(s) of Aura. As with zamoraz, winning provides immunity within the Shadow for a time.

Kalin is by now utterly insane, but cunning and devious for all that. He will use all the zamoraz at his command to try and weaken the group before he manifests himself. Although he commands many of the supernatural elements of this cursed valley, he is also a prisioner of it himself. All of the lifeforce he has absorbed over the centuries is retained in his decaying form, keeping him going (sort of) and making his Shadow stronger than it should be for a first-life gülmora (regular gülmora pass on their stolen lifeforce to their demonic master, more-or-less monthly – it’s been 700 years since Kalin was cursed).

He will use his control of the Darkness to confuse his opponents, then seek to get within five feet and initiate his Shadow Conflict. He will use his claw/claw attack (he is incredible fast, and so gets two attacks per round) if necessary, but tries to avoid physical conflict if possible. He will summon the rats from the coal room to attack the group, and hurl debris at them from a distance, seeking to confuse, injure and weaken his prey.

Kalin is immune to Fire Nerves or other such mental-based attacks (but not to Mental Bolt), and he wears an Ammulet of Kalos, which protects him from fire-based attacks. Holy weapons, such as Devrik’s sword, cause him permanent damage.

Some lines Kalin might utter: “You are unworthy to live while Narina does not! ”  “Yes, with so many, so vital… this time it will work! Yes, together we will restore Narina to life, as she deserves!”  “You desecrate Narina’s house! You must die, so that she may live again… yes, that is the fitting punishement for tresspassers!”

If the players reassemble the Torc of Ravarus, and invoke it while in battle with Kalin, then it will begin to glow with a violet light and in a moment a ghastly demonic face will appear in the shimmering air above it. The masked figure will laugh in delight. “By the Purity of Chaos, I had all but forgotten this Conduit! Do you still survive little Kalin, after all these centuries? Yes, I see you there! Not well, by the looks of you, but… oh my, how full of life you are! Many flies must have wandered into our trap over so much time, to leave you so… why, you’re  postively brimming over. And your gift comes at a most opportune time, else I might be inclined to let your punishment and torment continue… but no, I need what you have to offer… and offer it you will!”

“No!” screams Kalin, previously rooted in terror at the sight of the demon’s head. “No, this is all for Narina! It’s not too late, I can still bring her back! Please, you mustn’t – Noooooo!”

But even as he objects, seeking to flee, black tendrils rise out from the shimmering air over the torc and snake toward him. He is quickly caught by the thirteen writhing, smoke-like bands, and within seconds they thicken and begin to pulse – and his body begins to shrink and shrivel, his cries turning to thready shrieks. With one last wail of despair his body crumbles to dust, leaving only his rags to collapse to the floor. The tendrils withdraw into the torc, and the masked visage turns its attention on the group. “Congratulations! What mighty cattle you are, to have defeated one of my Master’s creatures… however flawed and debased he was. Well, perhaps we shall meet in person someday… although you won’t know me without my mask. But don’t worry, I never forget a face – or an Aura. And then we’ll see how you fare against a true Lord of Chaos!” His image fades with his chilling, confident, terrifying laughter echoing in your ears.

If they don’t use the Torc, and Kalin gets ahold of it, he will invoke it, thinking to use the power of Chaos to revive his beloved wife… and we’ll get the same results.